


Terrible Truths

by brilliantbanshee



Category: 9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020)
Genre: But he's trying, Carlos is supportive, Episode: s01e04 Act of God, Gen, M/M, Owen Strand needs a hug, TK Stand is a good son, TK is a mess, missing moment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:07:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24205642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brilliantbanshee/pseuds/brilliantbanshee
Summary: TK knows his dad is keeping something from him, he just never imagined it would be this.Or, a missing moment from 1x04 where TK connects the dots and figures out what’s wrong with Owen.
Relationships: Carlos Reyes/TK Strand, Owen Strand & TK Strand
Comments: 11
Kudos: 136
Collections: 9-1-1 Lone Star ▶ Carlos Reyes / Tyler Kennedy "TK" Strand





	Terrible Truths

**Author's Note:**

> Moving forward I am trying to bring a little more structure back into my life in this weird liminal time we are living in, so I am planning on posting a new work every Friday from now on. 
> 
> This doesn't mean other things won't pop up other days, but count on Fridays, for sure.

For all the time he and his dad spend together these days, TK feels like it’s been ages since they actually talked. They were always rushing in or out, each focused on their own things. Sure, they’d have a quick breakfast together before shift most days, but there was only so much conversation that could happen before coffee. 

Maybe it was the reality check that was the tornado, but TK felt like this was long overdue. He had watched a house collapse with his dad inside today and then watched two young children lose their father not even 3 minutes later. It had all been a reminder of how lucky he was to have his father in his life. He was supportive and loving, and TK was thankful that every day. So after he got cleaned up, he headed to his dad’s office. He wasn’t in so he perched on the desk to wait, running a light hand over the lump of 9/11 debris. 

He had done that as long as he could remember; ever since he was old enough to realize what it was and the connection it held with what would always be one of the worst days of his life. He had been lucky that day, so many of his friends had not. His dad had come home. Though things had never quite been the same after as they had been before; he still had his dad and for that, he would always be grateful. 

After a few minutes of sitting, he was starting to tingle with restless energy. He slid off the desk and crossed to the right-hand drawer where he knew his dad usually stashed his gum. He rifled through the drawer until he hears the familiar rattle of gum and reaches for the source of the noise. 

What came out was not gum, but rather a prescription pill bottle. He frowns at it. His dad hadn’t mentioned being sick at all, or even going to the doctors. He peers at the label. _Granisetron_. He had never heard of it. He stares at it, puzzled for a few moments. He is about to take out his phone to look it up, but he stops himself. No, he should ask his dad first. He should give him the chance to explain whatever this is on his own terms. He’d ask him over dinner. He hears voices approaching: his dad and Judd. He quickly stashes the bottle back into the drawer and exits the office, meeting them just outside the door. 

“Speak of the devil,” Judd says as he enters the main balcony. TK gives him a quick nod before addressing his father, “Hey Dad, I was thinking maybe we could try that Paleo place on Lamar?” 

Owen Strand had many talents, but lying had never been one of them. He avoided eye contact as he spoke, giving some excuse about paperwork. He only met TK’s eyes for the briefest of moments. The smile he pasted on wouldn’t have fooled anyone who actually knew him, and it certainly didn’t fool his son. 

His dad was keeping something from him, there was no denying it. His heart sank. 

He gave what he hoped was a nonchalant shrug though his mind was racing with implications and possibilities. “No worries, he said, “I’ll see you at home.” 

He needed to get out of here. He needed to leave before he lost the composure he was clutching so tightly. With a wave to the rest of the team who had gathered in the kitchen, he was out the door, walking into the night. He decided to walk home; the night was clear and cool, and catching an uber ran the risk of actually having to have a conversation. 

His phone felt like it was burning a hole in his pocket the entire time. He knew it would only take one quick search to get the answers for the questions swimming through his head, but he resisted. He still felt that he owed it to his dad to allow him an opportunity to explain. This wasn’t his secret to uncover - god knows he’s had more than his fair share of experience with those. 

He makes it home without giving in to the temptation. He plugs his phone in on his nightstand before walking away from it and the temptation it held. He gets changed and heads towards the kitchen, stopping in the bathroom to wash his hands on his way. He’ll make something to eat, find something mindless to watch on TV, maybe go to bed early. He will not give in to the google rabbit hole. He’s got this. 

He's about to dry his hands when he realizes that the ever-present pill bottles that have always been to the left side of the sink are conspicuously absent. He freezes, wet hands hovering over the counter. How long have they been gone? Surely it can’t have been long, he would have noticed, right? Maybe it was that thing; that thing when something was so familiar that you stopped even noticing it anymore. He pushed himself, trying to remember; trying to know for sure when the last time he'd seen his father's familiar prescription bottles by the sink. He thinks it may have been a while.

His hands are shaking as he reaches for the hand towel. An unexplained pill bottle is one thing, but Owen Strand giving up his hair treatments was another thing entirely. TK wishes he knew exactly how long it been, how long his dad had been keeping whatever this was from him 

He wondered how much longer he intended to keep it going on.

In that moment, he makes up his mind. Within a heartbeat, he is back in his bedroom grabbing his phone from the charger. He was on google before he could even finish the thought; his hands typing in the word as if on autopilot. He’s only seen it once, but it was burned into his mind. He scrolled through the results; his hands shaking as he read them.

_Granisetron_ : anti-nausea medication commonly prescribed for chemo patients.

He sinks onto his bed. His hands are trembling; his breath is coming fast and uneven. _Cancer_. His father has cancer. 

His father has cancer and hadn't told him.

His mind flew back to New York, to busy streets underneath a skyscraper. To a cough; a cough that just wouldn't go away. How long had he known? How long had he been planning on keeping it a secret? When exactly had he decided that TK deserved to know? When he was dying? When he was dead?

It was his own fault, he's supposed. He was his own worst enemy. Of course his father wouldn't tell him this; the last time he had received bad news he had tried to kill himself. He had thrown away years of sobriety. This...this was bigger than Alex cheating on him. This was his father's life. 

He ran a trembling hand down his face. He vaguely wondered if he should call his sponsor. This was the kind of life-altering dilemma that could send him careening towards a relapse. 

But even as he thought it, he knew he didn’t need to. For all his grief and panic, he didn’t feel that itch. There was no desire to escape; just a need to talk to his dad, to let him know that he was there for him. His dad had always been there through everything for him; it was his turn now. 

While the itch to get high may be a distant thing, he was still on edge. He was still shaking and unsure. He was still scared. He still needed to talk to someone; someone steady. 

The phone was ringing before his head had even caught up with his hand. 

“TK?”

Carlos’s voice is tired, raspy. it sounds as if he has just woken up. TK cringes - he hadn’t even thought about what time it was. 

“Carlos, hey. I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

“No.” He was clearly lying.

TK cursed at himself. This thing with Carlos was still new, he was treading into uncharted territory and this wasn’t the time. What had he been thinking? 

“It’s late, I’m sorry. I’ll just hang up, go back to sleep.”

“TK,” Carlos said again, “it’s fine really. Is everything okay? You sound a little freaked out.” 

“No. Maybe. I don’t really know.” 

Carlos’s voice was softer now, “Did something happen during your shift? The tornadoes were rough for us and we weren’t actually in the thick of it.”

God, TK had almost forgotten about the tornadoes. They seemed like a lifetime ago, though a glance at the clock told him it had only been a matter of hours. 

“No. I mean, there were some awful calls, but I’m fine, really.” 

“You’re starting to freak me out.”

“I’m fine Carlos, I shouldn’t have called.” 

Carlos sighed, “TK, I don’t mind you calling me, really; but if you are going to wake me up in the middle of the night could you at least tell me the truth?”

TK was quiet for a long moment, just listening to the sound of Carlos’s breathing on the other end of the line. It was calming; comforting. “I’m not fine,” he finally admitted, voice soft. 

Carlos’s breathing hitched, “Did something happen? Are you hurt?” 

“No,” he said quickly, “no. I’m not hurt, I promise.” 

He heard a soft sigh of relief through the phone, “But you’re not okay?” 

“No, I don’t think so.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

“I can’t tell you. It’s not my secret to share - I don’t even know if it’s true”

Carlos’s voice was soft when he spoke again, “you don’t want it to be true, do you?” 

TK could feel tears threatening to fall, “more than I’ve ever wanted anything.” 

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

TK gave a harsh laugh, “There’s nothing anyone can do to help this, which is what makes it suck so fucking much.” 

Carlos hummed sympathetically, “There’s nothing quite as bad as feeling powerless, is there?” 

TK sighed, running a weary hand down his face, “If there is, I’m not eager to find out.” 

“Well,” Carlos said after a moment, “if there’s nothing I can do, is there something you can do?” 

TK released a bark of laughter, harsher than he had intended, “Not unless I can somehow go back in time and become a doctor instead of a firefighter.”

“Unfortunately we’re fresh out of time machines,” Carlos deadpanned, “anything else more feasible in the realm of accepted physics?” 

TK sighed again, “Just being there, I suppose.” 

“Sometimes that’s the best you can do,” Carlos said softly. TK closed his eyes, breathing deeply. He knew that; he had known that before he called. But something about hearing it in Carlos’s voice made it seem that much easier, that much simpler. 

“Thank you,” he said eventually, “really.” 

“Happy I could help.” 

There was silence on the line for a long moment. TK fiddled with his necklace, his mind still racing but at a much more manageable pace. He wanted to keep Carlos on the phone, wanted to talk to him for the rest of the night. A part of him knew that all he would have to do is ask, and Carlos would. But that was too much too soon. Besides, it was late and Carlos probably had a shift tomorrow; TK refused to be that selfish. 

He took a steadying breath before he spoke again, “You should sleep, I’ll let you go.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“I’m sure. Thank you, Carlos; I mean it.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” he said, speaking around a badly contained yawn, “and I hope you’ll tell me what this was about at some point; when you’re ready.” 

“Don’t you already have enough of my baggage?” he had meant it as a joke, but it fell flat. 

“I’m here for you TK,” Carlos reminded him, “all of you - baggage included.”

TK didn’t know what to say to that. The sincerity in Carlos’s voice sent warmth through him. He had gotten a glimpse behind the curtain and instead of running, he had insisted on pulling it back further. There we no words for how much that meant to him. 

“Good night Carlos,” he said instead, hoping that at least some of what he was feeling was conveyed in those three words. 

They were the wrong three words, he thought vaguely, but they were the only ones he had right now. 

“Good night, Tyler Kennedy,” Carlos said, a hint of humor in his voice.

TK grimaced, “We’re going to have to talk about how often you’re allowed to use that at some point, but I’ll let it go for now because you gave me some good advice.” 

Carlos’s laughter rumbled over the phone and filled TK with warmth, “sleep well,” he said, and then hung up. 

TK turned the phone over in his hands. He felt lighter. Not relaxed by a long shot, but less likely to throw himself off the nearest bridge. 

Now it was just a matter of waiting; something at which TK had never excelled. He paced the house, for a while. He opened the fridge four times, only to shut it and walk away. Food held no interest to him now. The waiting was eating at him. He finally ended up on the couch, staring up at the ceiling as he played with his necklace and his mind wandered. 

Finally, he heard the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. He pulls himself up, settling on the edge of the couch. He’s practically vibrating with dread. He's not ready to do this, but what choice does he have?

The door swings open, but he can’t bring himself to look at his dad. He knows that if he does, he’ll lose his composure and the conversation will be over before it’s even started. 

“Hey, I thought you’d be asleep,” he hears his dad say, in that same hearty voice he used outside his office. 

“I’m not tired,” his voice sounds foreign to his ears; too harsh, too low. 

His dad stops, turns to face him; a guarded expression on his face. TK hated that look. It was his “waiting for the other shoe to drop” look; the one he got whenever TK was in trouble and he was waiting to find out how bad it was this time. “Is something wrong?” he asked, his voice resigned. 

TK; always the disappointment - was it any wonder he hadn’t told him anything? 

He looked down; careful to keep his voice even, measured. 

“When I was in your office today I was looking for some gum... I found a pill bottle instead.” He looked up, glancing at his dad, “Granisetron? At least, I think that’s how you pronounce it.” 

His father’s face fell, and his heart sank. It was true.

He looked down again, unable to face him as he continued speaking, “I looked it up; it’s anti-nausea meds for chemo patients.”

He kept waiting, hoping for him to interrupt, to say that he was crazy, he was wrong - but nothing came. All his father did was close his eyes in grim acceptance. 

“The cough,” he asked rapidly losing the battle to maintain his composure as tears crept into his voice, “it’s lung cancer, right?”

There was a heavy pause as he stared at his dad and his dad fiddled with his keys, looking anywhere but at TK. 

“I was going to tell you.” 

His dad’s voice, softer with the lack of his usual bravado sounded foreign to TK’s ears. His words barely registered before TK was scoffing, “sure you were,” he said sarcastically, words wrapped in a hollow laugh. He pulled himself up straighter, took a deep breath, “How long have you known?”

“Since before we left New York.” 

_Three months. He had known for three months._ “Wow,” he said aloud, “wow. You must think I’m so weak.” 

He shook his head. He knew it - he knew that his dad had been keeping something from him. Had been trying to shield him, again. He wondered again how his dad had gotten screwed with a fuck up like him as a kid. He needed someone he could rely on, but he had made it clear that TK was not that person. He shook his head, fighting a losing battle against the tears that filled his eyes.

“No.” 

Even his protest was soft, gentle. He crossed the room toward TK and he stood up, determined to meet him eye to eye, “Admit it; you didn’t think I could handle it.”

Even as he said it, he wanted his dad to deny it. But in his heart, he knew it was true. 

“No, that’s not it at all.”

“You thought that fragile TK would spin out and OD again. That’s what you thought, right?”

His words were harsh, but his anger wasn’t for his dad. His dad, who even now was trying to deny what was clearly the truth, No, the anger was all for himself. He was too weak to do anything that actually mattered; too weak to be there when it counted. His dad was still denying; trying to claim that no, that wasn’t what he thought. 

“Then why would you lie to me every single minute of every day?!” 

His father grew closer, his voice rising to match TK’s, “The reason I didn’t tell you about my diagnosis wasn’t because I think you’re weak.” He paused, and his voice grew softer again, “It’s because I am. I knew that if I told you and looked into your eyes and saw grief or fear...it would make it real.” 

They stood in silence for a few moments. TK could feel his angst subsiding as he looked at his dad. He looked tired, and scared. Now was not the time for a pity party, now was the time to prove to them both that he was strong enough to support them both. His dad had done it for far too long; it was his turn now. 

He lightly poked his dad, “Dad, look at me.” 

Tired eyes rose to meet his own and he spoke, “Do you see fear and grief? No. You know why? That’s because you are going to kick the _crap_ out of this cancer.” He punctuated each word with a jab to his dad’s chest, right at his heart. The heart that had always been stronger than anything; the heart that was not going to be toppled by cancer. Not after everything else. 

He moved his hand to his dad’s shoulder squeezing tightly, trying to convey all the love and determination he was feeling to his dad. It was his turn to be the rock now. “Especially because from now on, I’ve got your back.” They held each other’s gaze, and TK repeated it again, softer this time; “I’ve got your back dad.” 

It was a promise, one he did not intend to break for anything. 

His dad stepped forward, pulling him into a tight hug. They stood there, in their quiet living room savoring the presence of each other. 

“Thanks, son” Owen whispered into his shoulder as they clutched each other. TK couldn’t respond. He had used all his composure during their conversation. If he spoke again, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop the tears. 

So he just tightened his grip, holding his father tighter. He had meant what he said - he would be there for his dad. He would do whatever he could to make sure that this was not the end. He would do everything humanly possible to make sure that the best person he knew would pull through this. 

But just in case, he clutched him a little tighter. 

**Author's Note:**

> I've been playing with the idea of doing some missing moments from the show and I settled on this one as a trial run. It started off great, but then I really struggled with finishing it. I am really curious to know what you guys think. If you can think of any others you'd like to see, let me know and I'll do my best to get to them. 
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](https://brillliantbanshee.tumblr.com/) to give me any prompts or just to shout about the characters. I'll take any human interaction I can get these days.


End file.
